


Red River Valley

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Bandit Vespa, Cowboy AU, F/F, Former Sheriff Juno Steel, Mentions of Violence, Reunion, Saloon Owner Buddy Aurinko, Saloon Pianist Jet Sikuliaq, Time Gone By but they're cowboys, buddy and vespa were the rootinest tootinest bandits in the wild west, buddy aurinko hold my hand challenge, he's not really in it but it's implied that he's a horse thief, implied Horse Thief Peter Nureyev, minor hurt/comfort, no it isn't green, the Ruby 7 is a horse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: “If anything ever goes wrong, and I assure you, it will not, I promise that I’ll meet you there. And if someday we get bored of holding up banks and trains and escaping the finest lawmen in the west, perhaps we’ll go back there and retire,” Buddy smiled. Vespa felt her heart swell at the sound of wistfulness in her voice, the same tone that overtook her words and made her eyes go glassy when she talked about a particularly thrilling escape. “It’ll be just like a lighthouse calling us home.”
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa
Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823821
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84





	Red River Valley

It seemed to be an evening just like any other. That’s what Buddy had been afraid of. But then again, she should have been used to the disappointment by now. 

The melody of the tack piano waltzed through the dry evening air like the ghosts of lovers past, accompanied by the erratic percussion of the creaking floor and shuddering batwing doors. The desert wind played a low chord underneath, whistling in the windows and occasionally, if one strained their ears enough over the music and the murmured melody of glasses hitting the bar, it almost matched pitch. 

The windows beheld the world aflame, the purple smoke of night billowing forth from dusky plains and red rock. Buddy knew if she stepped out back for a moment and took a long look up at that giant, endless sky, filled to bursting with the dying sun and newborn stars, she might just walk off into the desert and let it swallow her whole. 

It wasn’t a bad existence. At the very least, she had company in the form of Jet Sikuliaq, the only man in her saloon sober enough to play piano well, and the only man patient enough to play it for hours. His scarred fingers danced over the keys with the novel tenderness of a man desperate to accustom his hands to new and kinder things. Buddy supposed he had moved on for certain when he sold his trusty horse Ruby to help buy the establishment now known as the Lighthouse. 

On the other end of the bar, retired sheriff Juno Steel cleaned glasses and barely spared a glance for his work, eye out the window and trained on the distant horizon. He’d quit after a shootout went sour and a horse bandit made off with his heart. More importantly, he would only talk to you about it if you could drink him under the table. Juno didn’t drink anymore. 

While the company was a fairly recent development, Buddy had called the Lighthouse home long before it bore both that name and her ownership. Before she had lost her partner and stomach for adventure in the process, the vast expanse of red rock and plains and desert that now peeked through the windows had been her home. Every evening, she’d been sung to sleep by harmonica as she wove stories from the night air. The only conflict tearing at her chest was whether to stare at the glittering stars above or at her Vespa as she murmured tall tales into the wind. 

She supposed that problem had been solved for her. All it took was a gunshot and a scream and the haunting crack of a body flying off a train for Buddy to be able to look up at the night sky and see both her loves at once. 

The end of an era had never been a question to Buddy, who couldn’t fathom anything but a blaze of glory bringing the pair of them down. Buddy and Vespa. Vespa and Buddy. If the one thing the two of them couldn’t conquer was death itself, they’d burn out like stars and be sung of in ballads for decades to come. 

Vespa, always the realist, had set down her harmonica one night to question it. 

“Bud,” she’d begun, voice hoarse with the dry desert air. “What do you reckon will happen if we get caught?”

Buddy had laughed. Vespa didn’t. The following beat of silence, filled with the rustling of dry grass like a million unseen adversaries, seemed to stretch into hours. 

“We’re not going to get caught, darling.”

Vespa shook her head. Buddy could hear her nails drumming on the harmonica. 

“You always say that, Bud,” Vespa pressed, her voice starting to shake. 

“That’s because it’s true.”

Vespa sighed. “Just listen. Please.”

Buddy sighed, then nodded. 

“If one of us gets caught, or if we get separated, or if something horrible happens, I want us to have somewhere where we can go. Like the saloon where we met,” Vespa offered. 

Buddy couldn’t help a reminiscent grin, eyes trailing down from their campfire’s dancing smoke and onto her partner. 

“You mean the one where you walked in and threatened to shoot a man for disrespecting me?” Buddy chuckled. “You know, darling, I could’ve shot him myself.”

Vespa snorted. “I was just being polite.”

“You just wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“What else was I supposed to do? I like women who look like they can shoot disrespectful men for themselves,” Vespa said with a thin smile. Buddy reached around the fire to squeeze her hand. 

“If anything ever goes wrong, and I assure you, it will not, I promise that I’ll meet you there. And if someday we get bored of holding up banks and trains and escaping the finest lawmen in the west, perhaps we’ll go back there and retire,” Buddy smiled. Vespa felt her heart swell at the sound of wistfulness in her voice, the same tone that overtook her words and made her eyes go glassy when she talked about a particularly thrilling escape. “It’ll be just like a lighthouse calling us home.”

Buddy had been cleaning the same glass for far too many minutes when she pulled her head from the past and her eye from the last shadow of dusky orange that managed to creep through the window and under the doors. She spared a glance for Jet, who seemed to be winding down for the evening as polkas turned to waltzes and uptempo drinking songs wound down like the slowing wheels of a locomotive. 

Buddy had half a mind to tell him to pack up for the evening and to leave her to throw the remaining patrons out into the street when a resounding creak made her stand bolt upright. 

The first thing strangers usually noticed about the Lighthouse was the creaky spot two floorboards from the entrance, as usually it was the first thing they stepped on. Regulars knew to step over and around it to save everyone a pain in their neck from looking at the new visitor. Only newcomers and outsiders stepped on that board. 

The thing had creaked years ago when Buddy’s knight in chaps and leather had pointed a six gun at the rat bastard giving her a hard time. As such, she never had the heart to get it fixed. 

Something about the way the floorboard groaned under the stranger’s spurred boots put Buddy on edge, and after Jet’s final chord on the piano crashed and went silent midway through the song, she knew she wasn’t the only one. 

The stranger who stood in the door now was backlit against the cool glow of the setting sun, their face concealed by the brim of a hat pulled low and a scarf pulled high over their nose and mouth. Buddy’s hand was already at her holster. Juno had already drawn. 

Only when the stranger held both hands up did Buddy relax her grip, nodding for Juno to reholster his pistol. He did so reluctantly, a tense hand still resting on the weapon. 

“I don’t fancy patrons coming into my saloon with their faces covered. I can appreciate a need for privacy, but I intend to know the face of whoever may or may not be threatening my staff,” Buddy started. 

The stranger began to remove their hat as they approached the bar, tossing it down adjacent to a stool Buddy used to frequent as a patron. It was only when the stranger undid the scarf covering the remainder of her face that Buddy’s heart stopped. 

“Vespa,” she breathed. Anything else she might have managed to say was broken off entirely when she was wrapped in a tight and trembling hug. 

“I’m so sorry, Bud. I’ll explain, I promise--”

Buddy shook her head as well as the embrace would allow her. She was halfway over the bar, only one of her feet touching the ground anymore. Though it was a stab in the chest to do so, she broke the embrace in order to climb over the bar entirely, modesty and dust be damned. With Vespa sitting at her side and in her arms once more, it seemed she had awoken a fierce creature within her chest, one that knew no fear nor pain nor tragedy. Nothing could go wrong so long as these familiar arms were wrapped in hers.

Buddy and Vespa. Vespa and Buddy. 

Distantly, she thought she heard Juno sniff. 

“Darling,” Buddy began, lips blooming into a smile she had reserved for only her partner long ago. The word was so familiar on her lips, but speaking to this distant memory brought to life gave the syllables an electric thrill as they left her. “How exactly you managed to come home to me is a question for later. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Vespa nodded. Buddy didn’t know if she was choking on dust or words or tears, but she found she didn’t particularly care. Jet had taken to sitting back down on the piano bench and picking up his battered guitar, strumming an old ballad with his back against the piano and his feet kicked up on a second chair. He hummed as he played. Familiar words had escaped him, but the melody remained. 

There was a calloused hand on Buddy’s face and a thumb swiping over her cheekbone as she stared off at the dying daylight outside. In time, she would have it in her to take in every inch of Vespa with her eyes, clutching to her image like a dying man clutches to life. For now, though, it was like staring into the sun itself, too beautiful to gaze at directly. She would have to appreciate only Vespa’s radiance, simultaneously furious and soft. 

“I missed you so much, Bud,” Vespa murmured into her hair, words followed by a kiss to her brow. Something swelled in Buddy’s chest as she watched the sun disappear below the horizon. 

“I missed you too, my darling.”

The saloon was now only lit by the gas and oil lamps within, a flickering yellow glow that felt like desert campfires and harmonica and midnight stories and home. The building must have glowed with it all, a glittering jewel in the soft expanses of desert night. 

Buddy would’ve bet their little beacon of refuge could be seen for miles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still actively coming to terms with the fact that I just wrote a penumbra cowboy au but what the hell, I had fun doing it. Anyway, thank you so much for reading!! Smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome gamers. For those interested, you can find me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric to scream about lesbian cowboys with me


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